Shades of Water, Ice, and Sky
by Homura Bakura
Summary: [complete] "I have known you more than once, and loved you every time." - A series of one shots for SetoKisa week. [Blueshipping, Mizushipping, Familiarshipping, Effectshipping, Whiteroseshipping, Perfectionshipping]
1. Sapphire

**[Prompt: bathtime together in the sea/private pool]**

 **[Critias/Kisara]**

* * *

He hears her draw in a breath, the sound of the waves pulling into her lungs, and he shivers with a sigh of bliss.

"Do you like it?" he whispers.

Her eyes are the same sapphire as the waves they behold, her hand cool in his like the breath of the sea breeze that wraps around them and send her hair fluttering and sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight.

"It's beautiful," she says, and the stars are glimmering in her eyes with wonder. She has never seen the sea, not like this. Her life has been spent shuffled between trader and trader, the sea only a source of sickness and pain from being crammed together in the slums of a ship's belly. But in Atlantis, the sea is divine. Her eyes shine and he can see that for once, she is allowed to see the sea for what it truly is: beauty, and peace.

He slides his arm around her waist and sighs into her hair. It smells clean, clear, like desert sands from where she was taken.

"Do you want to go closer?"

"Yes."

He watches her dip one bare toe into the surf, mouth opening with wonder.

"It's warm."

"The gods send us warm waters here."

She steps farther into the water and he notes the way the silver waves caress her feet, the way her toes press into the sand and wriggle with a quiet delight at the softness of it. She turns towards him, hair falling around her shoulders like she is made of the water itself, and she reaches her hand for him.

"Come out with me," she says.

He smiles as he grips her hand, slips out of his boots allows himself to be pulled into the gentle tide so that the waves roll around him and soak into the bottoms of his pants. She laughs, dancing farther into the waves.

"Catch me," she says, and she runs.

He chases her, chases the sound of her starlight laugh, the water spraying up into the sky around them and hanging, sparkles of moonlight. She squeaks as he wraps his arms around her from behind with a soft _"caught you, princess"_ and then they are both squealing as they lose their balance and fall into the water.

Both heads crash up for air and her laugh carries up to the sky.

"Now look what you've done—we're soaked!"

"That's what you get for playing hard to get," he laughs.

Her hand entangles into his hair and she draws him close so that their faces are close together. She glistens with water, its as if the starlight has been liquefied and used to anoint her—she glows. Her eyes search his like moon searches the sea.

"Kiss me," she whispers then. Low, breathy, pleading. "Please."

She doesn't even need to ask. His own hands come to cup her face and they pull themselves towards each other, a desperate pressing of lips as though they hope to become one creature, one part of the ocean waves. He can taste the ocean on her, the swell of the sea and all that it contains and the depth of her soul like an unending ocean that wants to swallow him up completely and wholly so that he only exists within her, and he wants it—oh, god, he wants her to do it.

The kiss ends with a hazy uncertainty, as though neither are certain yet who they are without that connection of lips and hands and bodies.

He presses her to him, lets the ocean water seep between them, and her hands tighten around his waist as she breathes into his shoulder, the breath of the ocean itself in his arms.


	2. Cobalt

**[Prompt 2: Person A has a big fight with Person B, so Person B confronts them in the rain and tells them how much they love Person A.]**

 **[Seto Kaiba/Kisara]**

* * *

She has forgotten her umbrella—they'll both be wet, he supposes.

It's a stupid thing to be running through his head right now, of all times, but that's the thought he clings to as he bolts down the road with the unopened black umbrella in his hand. People are staring—why wouldn't they, he is, of course, one of the most iconic faces in the city, and he is running like a madman through the rain that plasters his long coat to his sides despite the fact that he clutches an umbrella in one hand—but he ignore them. He ignores everything, for once, actually not caring about what people think, not caring what the media says about his strange actions, not caring what will be plastered across the tabloids tomorrow because he just has to get there, right now, before it's too late and he loses her.

" _Why don't you look at me? Why do you spend so much time at work—why does something always come up on the days that we're supposed to go out together? Am I not important?"_

He wrenches himself around a corner. The train station. She has gone to the train station, he's certain, she grabbed her purse as she bolted out the door trying to hide the tears under her bangs and muttered something about going to see her grandparents—an abruptness in her tone that told him it could be a visit that lasted forever. If he didn't stop her at the train station she would be out of reach and she would return to France and he would never see her again—

" _Am I not important?"_

She's too important. She's so important that it scares him, so important that when he realized that whenever his mind wandered from his work it turned to her, to her smile and the fall of her hair across her shoulders and the sound of her laugh and the way that she shook her head and smiled when he complained about how much work there was and the careful calligraphy of her handwriting and all the little things about her that made her glow, he had to catch his breath. He has never thought this way before about anyone and it scares him because he doesn't know what to do next—he, the one that plans so far ahead, who knows his opponents moves three steps before they make them, does not know what to expect. He doesn't know what to do with the tightness in his chest when he sees her and the way that his breath hitches when she smiles at him. He stepped back, because he didn't know how to handle it. He needed to think about it—and the more he thought the more scared he found himself becoming and the more excuses he ended up making until he was about to lose her and he realized—

 _I've been a goddamn fool._

The rain is pummeling him like a million and one knives cutting through him He ignores it, too, like he ignores the stares and the uncertain voices that whip past him. He ignores the bangs that hang heavily in his face because he does not have time to wipe the water from his eyes.

He hurtles into the station—the train is already here, oh, god, no, she can't be gone yet, she can't be gone—

And then, like a light, she's there.

He can see her, a glow against the rain, her hair soaked down to a dark platinum that clings to her raincoat and curtains her face.

"Kisara."

He's sure that he hasn't spoken above an unbidden whisper but her head jumps and she turns. Is she crying, or is that the rain streaming down her face. Someone swears at her for stopping in the way of the door and shoves her out of the way, but even as she stumbles her eyes don't leave him, and his don't leave hers.

The rain measures the distance between them. He can hardly see for the water running through his eyes—both rain, and unwanted tears that he cannot stop. He can only stare, because half of him thought that he would be too late, and is not certain what to say now that he actually is face to face with her. She doesn't speak either, just...staring. Eyes meeting through the sheets of rain.

His hand moves automatically, extending the umbrella towards her.

"You...you forgot this," he mumbles.

She blinks—too rapidly, she's trying to hold back tears.

"You ran all this way just to give me that?" she says. Her voice breaks, as though she was hoping something more.

His mouth opens, closes, and then opens again.

"I—I wasn't talking about the umbrella," he says.

Because, he realizes now, he wasn't. He shifts the umbrella to his other hand and leaves his now free hand extended forward.

"This," he says, his voice tight, barely there, if he spoke like this in a business meeting he would be a laughing stock. "You forgot this."

 _You forgot me._

She stares at his hand, eyes wide. For a moment, she presses a hand to her mouth and closes her eyes.

"Why?" she says. "Why do you do this to me?"

"I love you," he says, and for the first time, he is positive that it is true—there is nothing in him except _love_. "There is nothing except—except that I love you. I was...scared. I was stupid. I was afraid of who I was becoming because I didn't know what it was—but now I do, and I want—I want to be that person. For you."

Her eyes open—hooded with rain and heavy bangs.

Her voice is a whisper, but he can hear it scatter ripples across puddles.

"I was scared too," she whispers. "Scared that you weren't going to come back."

Her hand reaches through the rain, and it slides into his.

And then, it's just natural momentum, propelling them towards each other, wrapping arms around each other and pressing faces against each other and the water pounding down on them, umbrella left forgotten on the ground.

He is not afraid anymore.

He knows what he wants—and it's her.


	3. Azure

**[Prompt: Please Forgive Me]**

 **[Priest Set/Kisara]**

 **I regret _nothing._ (that's a lie I regret everything)**

* * *

The sky is too blue today. Of course, clouds are rare, and he knows that—but he wishes for them today. The clearness of this day is far too cheerful, far too smiling, for what he is doing.

He is pressing her cool-air hand against his cheek and trying to impress the softness against him, her pale skin white against his dark. Her hair is the only cloud, falling across her eyes like a darkening sky—and her eyes are darkening, quickly now, her grip is loosening on his hand and her attempt at a smile is starting to fade.

 _Stay with me. Please, by the gods, stay with me._

She is trying to speak to him—what is it? A prayer? A confession of feelings? An apology?

 _Oh, gods, no, don't apologize to me. Don't. I'm the one that should be apologizing. I'm the one that should beg for your forgiveness._

Her lips move, silent. Her soft cloud hand is slipping from his face and he presses her harder against him, his other arm cradling her too-light body in his arms. She is turning to air before his eyes and he doesn't want to let her.

 _It should have been me. It should have been me. He aimed for me. It should have been me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

She smiles one last time but it barely twitches her lips, she is so weak. Her blood is staining his hands, too warm for the rest of her which is made of cool clouds. For a moment, she briefly attempts to curl up into him, to press herself into his chest, his beautiful sky girl, a last breezy sigh escaping her as her eyes flutter half shut.

The lights in her eyes go out, and the sky inside her is dark.

The sky is too light, too blue, too clear for him to be holding her in his arms like this.

 _Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me—_


	4. Cerulean

**[Prompt: Rules were made to be broken]**

 **[Christian Seto Rosenkreuz/Kisara] (the Kaiba from Duelist of the Roses)**

* * *

He finds himself ducking into the dark hallway, and extinguishing the torches as he passes them. Half of him thinks it logical—if the torches are out, people will assume this hall is off limits and won't to follow him. The other half of him knows that he's being childish, but he tries to suppress that half.

Behind him, the soft hum of bows on strings continue, the clink of silverware and the titter of noble laughter echoing after him, an attempt at enticing him back that sorely fails. He pulls at the tight collar of his doublet—he hates the thing. He misses his armor. Even that heavy plate is more comfortable than this ridiculous thing. Its warmer, too, he thinks as he shudders against the cold. Even this far into the castle, the winter's chill sets in deep. Not a rose can grow in this weather, neither red nor white.

He supposed he shouldn't be like this. This is an important dinner after all, entertaining some highly influential guests—more than one that he was currently supposed to be dancing with. He is, of course, said to be one of the most marriageable bachelors in the kingdom at this point, having secured such a resounding victory over the Tudors recently. The thought makes his nose wrinkle up and his stomach clench.

 _These are the rules of the game we play, Seto,_ Pegasus Crawford had said, flicking silver hair from his eyes lazily. _Alliances must be made, and the bonds of marriage are of course the strongest we can make._

His lips curl. "Rules of the game"—Pegasus certainly knows how to press his buttons. If it was framed as a game, well...he is determined not to lose.

He blinks as he realizes where his feet have brought him. The door glows with a warm yellow light in the middle of the dark hallway, and he can hear laughter—real laughter, not the polite, backstabbing laughter that goes on in the ballroom. His heart clenches. He knows the sound of that laugh.

"Just a moment, Missy, I'll grab some extra blankets," the voice calls—cool and fresh, like the feel of winter snow against warm hands.

There is movement. Before he can think to retreat back into the shadows, a silhouette appears in the doorway and then—

Then she is there, pausing as she sees him, her long hair the color of a winter's frozen waterfall spilling over her shoulders, dark eyes like the reflection of water beneath the ice.

"Oh," she breathes.

"Oh," he says, rather dumbly.

They stand there. Frozen in the ice of uncertainty.

"I thought you'd be entertaining your...your prospects," she whispers. She adds hurriedly, "Milord."

"I'm supposed to be," he says.

Her eyes drop, bangs shifting in front of them.

"I shouldn't keep you, milord. You have pressing matters to attend to, I'm sure."

There is ice in her voice, but it is thin, ready to crack. The bluster of a winter breeze that feints at a storm that it cannot bring—does not want to bring.

She attempts to slip past him but his hand reaches for hers, twining into it. She draws in a breath—but she does not let go.

"We shouldn't," she whispers. The ice in her voice breaks up, floating on the water of her words. She wants to freeze them again, he can feel it. Part of him wants her to, wants her to become full ice and snow, wants her to push him away with the chill of her hands. That would make things so much easier.

"I know."

But the bigger part of him doesn't want that. Doesn't want that at all. He hesitates. Then he slowly, slowly draws her towards him. She turns to face him, look up. Lets him pushed the hair from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.

"Isn't it against the rules of your game?" she whispers. "Don't you have a duty? I offer you no power. No allegiances."

Words he told her before. Words that he himself didn't want to say and he knew that she knew he didn't want them.

"Yes...and yes..." he says. "But I think—sometimes—the rules need to be broken in order to win...don't you think?"

Her eyes stare up at him, a dark winter sky. She smiles and it's like all of winter has finally burnt away and she has become summer in his arms.

"Then break them with me," she whispers. "And never let me go again."

She doesn't have to ask him twice.


	5. Teal

**[Prompt: Free Falling]**

 **[Seto Kaiba/Blue Eyes White Dragon]**

* * *

He walks right edge of the path, the place where there is no railing, and peers over the side as though bored by the height. Behind him, the orphanage matron squawks, darting forward, grabbing him by the shoulder, and yanking him back.

"It's not safe!" she says. "Stay with the group!"

"We're not that high up," he says. "It's only about eighty feet."

"I'll not have anyone falling today, do you understand me?"

She watches him from the shadow of the mountain rocks that line the path, curled up like a platinum statue that no one can see. She flips her tail softly, dark eyes following the boy whose sky eyes glance towards the edge of the mountain path again. She can see it then: the longing in his eyes, the way his hands twitch with anticipation. She understands. He wants to stand there and feel the wind buffet him and see the empty sky that separates him from the ground. Height holds no terror over him. Why should it? By all rights, his soul is half hers, and why should a dragon fear a drop?

"Why bring us to a mountain if we can't even look over the side?" he mutters to himself, but he rejoins the group—if only to reassure the small boy with the messy dark hair that wants to cling to his hand, the only one that those dark sky eyes will open up for and smile.

She hums. A deep throated sound, a song that vibrates across the metal of her scales.

She feels his longing. He wants to experience the wind rushing around him. His eyes continue to wander to the edge. He wants to step off—not because he wants to fall. Because he wants to _fly_. His dragon soul longs for the open air. For the stomach dropping sensation of a free fall into flight.

She lifts her hed and keens into the sky. For a moment, he pauses, eyes turning towards her, mouth opening slightly. He has heard her—heard her, longing too for flight, for the chance to spread her wings once again and feel the wind rush over and under her.

But her soul is half his, and he is human. Humans cannot fly.

Not yet, anyway.

She rises to her feet, and fades back into the recesses of his soul.

 _Someday,_ she breathes, and he can hear him draw in a breath, as though he hears her—or at least, feels her within his soul. _Someday, we will fly again. Together, we will fly again._


	6. Turquoise

**[Prompt: Come Sail Away]**

 **[Kaibaman/Maiden with Eyes of Blue]**

 **[In retrospect this chapter probably would have been better as the final chapter lol]**

* * *

We meet on the beach, like we did the very first time. I still remember the way I hated the smell of salt water then—at that time, it reminded me only of the pressing of bodies and the stench of sweat and despair and fear and giving up, the rub of slimy wood against bare feet in the belly of a ship. But you showed me the way that water could sparkle. You showed me the beauty of the sun melting into the ocean waves, the silver of a moonlit tide, the beautiful cleansing feeling of sea foam in my hair. You showed me the shimmer of water on our skin pressing together and the taste of sea salt on your lips. The ocean belongs to the memory of you and I, not the memory of times I spent alone and in captivity.

You are standing on the beach—your hair is longer this time. Your eyes are shaded by the helmet you have taken to wearing, but I can still see the ocean blue of your soul and I know it is you.

You startle as I approach, my bare feet making slipping sounds in the sand. You turn, and I can hear the way your breath sucks in, the sound of the tide in your lungs. You reach up to pull the helmet from your head, long dark hair spilling freely around your shoulders. Your eyes are the deep color of an ocean at night, just as I remembered them. I close my eyes for a moment to imprint that color on the insides of my eyes, in case you disappear from me again.

"I thought you would come here," you say.

"You dork," I whisper. "Have you just been standing here waiting for me?"

"Maybe," you say. "Yes."

I laugh, letting the ocean in my lungs come spilling out with the twinkle of droplets in the air. You smile and the sun is in that smile.

"You kept me waiting a long time," you say.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's enough that you're here now."

I cannot hold myself back longer. I fling myself into your arms and the helmet falls from your hands to scatter the sands so that you can wrap your long arms around my shoulders, dropping your face into my hair and I can feel your breath trying to inhale all of me, just as I try to inhale all of you.

"Never let me go," I whisper.

"As long as you never slip away from my arms again," you say.

The tide breathes in and out around our feet. The sun is already spilling into the sea, its orange and red leaking and staining the water.

"Will you sail away with me this time, princess?" you say.

"Yes...let's go. To the ends of the earth—where no one can find us."

"Where no one can split us again."

Your fingers entwine into my braids and my hands knot into your hair as our faces rise as one to meet eyes again. It is only natural that our lips should press together, as natural as the ocean waves that lift up to kiss the sand.

We will sail away together this time.

We will sail away, and we will find a world where happiness is as eternal as the ocean that binds us.


	7. Aquamarine

**[Prompt: Memories]**

 **[Critias/Kisara, Priest Set/Kisara, C. Seto Rosenkreuz/Kisara, Seto Kaiba/Kisara]**

* * *

He wasn't sure he wanted to remember her.

Seto Kaiba stared down at the trio of Blue Eyes White Dragon cards spread on the desk in front of him. They glimmered softly in the light. When he picked one up and tilted it back and forth, the rainbow shimmer of the holographic paper ran up and down the length of the card.

He sighed, putting it back down on his desk in the middle of the trio. One long finger trailed down the edge of the right one.

It truly was beautiful, he thought. One of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He had always loved dragons when he was a child, loved the stories of how strong and powerful they were. He wanted to be as powerful as them. And the Blue Eyes was the most powerful at all. For years, he had told himself that his fascination with the card lay in the psychological scars of his childhood and his desire for control, desire for power to take control of his life again when it had been so long in the hands of others. His psychiatrist, on the single occasion that Mokuba had convinced him to go, had agreed with the assessment.

But it wasn't true, was it?

A soft tap on the door. Seto looked up, knowing what was next. The door opened a crack and Mokuba peeked one eye in.

"Um, niisama? Someone's here to see you...?"

"It's okay, Mokuba...I'm expecting him. Go ahead and let him in."

Mokuba blinked, as though he could hardly believe his ears. But he shrugged, still looking a bit shell-shocked, and retreated behind the door. Seto sighed, dropping his head into his hands for just the briefest of moments. He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening again.

"Mutou-san," he said, softly, somewhat—guilty in spite of himself. "Thank you for coming."

To his credit, Mutou Sugoroku didn't look the least bit perturbed, and he grinned with that large, amicable smile that only a very old man could have. He crossed the room as Seto rose from the chair and shook his hand briefly.

"It's no trouble at all, my boy. Sorry about the snow; tried to brush most of it off but it's quite the howler out there!"

"It is," Seto agreed. "And it's all right...it's only water."

For a breath, only an awkward silence reigned. Seto hated regretting things, but there were few things he regretted more than what he had done to the old man. It had been petty and childish of him to duel him as he had, using his age against him. And Sugoroku didn't even seem to hate him for it, always smiling when Seto had to stop by the game shop and always having that same bellowing greeting as though Seto were just one of Yugi's friends stopping by. Seto had never even officially apologized, and even now, Sugoroku didn't ask for an apology.

"I'm sorry to bring you out in the middle of this," he said. "When we made this appointment, there was no storm in the forecast."

Sugoroku just let out one of his belly laughs, snow sliding from his graying hair as he removed his hat and placed it on the desk.

"Oh, don't you worry about that—I've seen far harsher storms in my day! It was barely a bluster to me. Besides," and he paused to wink, "this is more important than any old storm, hm?"

Seto ducked his eyes.

"Right..." he said.

He was starting to regret this whole thing, as his eyes dropped to the cards and held their trio of gazes for a moment.

After a beat, Sugoroku spoke.

"You _do_ want to try this, right?" he said softly. "It's okay if you don't."

"I..."

He hesitated. He didn't want to say this but—

"I'm afraid."

The words tumbled out anyway.

"Of what?" Sugoroku asked.

"Of what I might see."

Sugoroku let out a very soft sigh.

"She was important to you, wasn't she?"

He tried not think about the way she haunted his dreams every night, even though he had only seen her once in that hallucinatory world.

"She was to my supposed preincarnation."

"But she's important to _you_. It's important to _you_ that you understand her, isn't it?"

Seto closed his eyes. Again, he saw her imprinted there—it was like he couldn't escape. His obsession with the Blue Eyes, with finding and obtaining the cards, the way that the memory of the day he had ripped up that fourth card made him clench him and shiver inside like he was going throw up, her face smiling at him in his dreams, the way her blood felt on his hands when she died in his arms—

He gasped as he fled out of the vision.

Sugoroku was looking at him, quietly. The only sound was the howl of the winter wind outside.

"Yes," Seto said finally. "She...she was."

Sugoroku smiled. His eyes crinkled up with deep wrinkles and his mustache twitched.

"Then it's worth it, isn't it? You might see something you don't like, but if she was truly important, then the good spots will make it worth it, don't you think?"

Seto bit the inside of his cheek. Then he nodded.

"Fine," he said. "Probably nothing will happen anyway."

Sugoroku chuckled softly. He dug in his pocket for a moment for the small box. Seto braced his hands against the desk as Sugoroku opened the box and pulled out the last Blue Eyes White Dragon card. Seto felt a stab in his heart at the sight of the tape holding the ragged edges together.

 _I did that to you_ , he thought. _I—god, I'm so sorry._

Sugoroku glanced up at Seto.

"Ready to try?"

Seto couldn't speak, his throat was too dry. He just nodded.

Sugoroku placed the fourth Blue Eyes at the end of the line. Seto licked his dry lips, and slid two fingers to rest on top of the final, ripped card. For a moment, nothing happened—Seto had figured as much. Sure, he had caught glimpses of memories from holding the other three after that journey to Egypt, but he had been stupid to think that somehow having all four of them would make him remember anything else—

The vision hit him like a truck.

He gasped and physically fell back into his chair, head slumping back. He heard Sugoroku's cry as though from far away, and then the vision overtook him completely and he was gone.

 _He is pulling her to her feet, feeling a growl tug at his lips at the bruise that colored her cheek._

" _He shouldn't have hit you like that," he says._

" _I'm his slave," she whispers. "He can do with me as he pleases."_

 _He doesn't like the way she shudders and clutches at the hem of her skirt when she says that._

" _There is no slavery in Atlantis," he tells her. "And he owns you no longer."_

 _And then he is holding her against him and watching the sails of ships on the horizon as the city behind them rises up with laughter, and she is playing with the straps of his armor._

" _You're always wearing that," she teases. "You should let things go for once."_

" _Then however will I protect you, my love?" he says, kissing her on the head and smiling as she laughs and pushes him playfully away._

 _And then he is holding her cool hand against his as the sun beats down on them, and she is smiling with the relief of one that has just escaped the heat in a cool oasis. And he is pulling her to him and pressing his lips against hers because he missed her so much and she missed him and they just need to press their bodies together in ecstasy—_

 _And again, now they are entwined together in the recesses of a dark castle while the winds of winter howl outside, and she smiles as she stretches up to kiss him lightly on the nose._

" _You're so cute," she whispers._

" _Not as cute as you, my snow princess," he whispers back, pulling her into him so that he can feel every inch of her against him, warmer even than the fire crackling at their feet._

He gasped again, jerking free of the vision. The howling of wind was real this time, present and actual. Not a memory.

There were tears on his face. When—when did that happen?

Sugoroku's hand gripped his shoulder, and for a moment, Seto just looked at him, disoriented.

"Are you back?" he asked.

"Y-yes," Seto said.

Sugoroku watched him a moment longer, as though to make sure he wasn't going to pass out. Then he asked, in a low, soft voice,

"Did you see her?"

Another unbidden tear rolled down Seto's cheek. He pressed a hand against his eyes for a moment.

"Yes," he whispered. "I...I did."

"And?"

Seto's hand slowly dropped from his face.

"She was beautiful," he whispered. "So...beautiful...and kind...and..."

He closed his eyes to try and stop another tear from escaping him.

Sugoroku's eyes fell to the desk. Seto frowned, following his gaze—and then he drew in a sharp breath.

The fourth Blue Eyes was whole again. The tape had even vanished. Seto reached for it. But then he hesitated, hand hovering over it.

It was Sugoroku that guided his hand to the card. Seto glanced at him before he picked it up, and turned it over, looking for any sign that it had been ripped up.

"Well," he said, holding the card out. "I guess you can consider this repayment for...helping me out."

But Sugoroku shook his head. He pushed the card back towards Seto.

"Keep it," he said. "It's yours."

"No," Seto said, trying to hold it out to him. "No, it's yours. It's a special card that was given to you by your friend. I don't deserve it."

Sugoroku just smiled.

"Truth be told, Arthur's given me plenty of old trinkets," he said. "I won't lie—the card is special to me, because of who gave it. But the card is special to you because of _who it is_."

He retrieved his hat, plopping it on his head.

"You've been looking for her for a long time," he said, moving towards the door. "Probably thousands of years, without even knowing about it. Who am I to get in between a love story that strong?"

"Mutou-san..."

Sugoroku just glanced back from the door, his hand already on the handle. And for one, brief moment, Seto saw him as he had been, the cocky adventurer that had sought out the world's secrets and become one of the world's greatest game masters—and he wondered, for a moment, how he had ever won against a soul that bright.

"Call me grandpa," he said, winking. "And take care of her, will you? She's been waiting for you just as long as you have her."

He winked one last time, and then...he was gone.

Seto could hear him humming all the way down the hallway, saying hello to Mokuba as he passed, heard Mokuba chase after him and offer to have the car take him home since the storm was getting worse.

For his own part, Seto just sank back into his chair. He stared down at the four cards laid before him.

And then he smiled, and let the tears finish falling.

"Kisara," he murmured.

It had been worth it.

It had been worth it.


	8. Cyan

**[Prompt: Especially For You]**

 **[Critias/Kisara, Priest Set/Kisara, C. Seto Rosenkreuz/Kisara, Seto Kaiba/Kisara, Seto Kaiba/Blue Eyes White Dragon, Kaibaman/Maiden With Eyes of Blue]**

* * *

I have known you more than once, and loved you every time.

I knew you the first time by the ocean blue of your eyes, the ocean that you taught me how to love. I knew you by the salt of your kiss and the sand of your hands and the way that you held me while the surf rushed around our feet, your armor as a knight of that place called Atlantis left discarded on the beach because you did not want there to be any barriers between us. I knew you by the ocean's kiss, and I loved you in the reflection of its waves.

I knew you next by the river of the gods that floods the crops each year. I knew your dark skin against the pale of mine and the way that your eyes held the ocean even though in this life you had never seen it before, and never would living in the center of the golden sands of heat and sun. I knew you by the sky that you cut a silhouette against, the cloudless expanse that never ceased in its shining.

I knew you again inside of a cold, dark castle, where ice clung to stone and you again wore armor as you strode through frozen halls. I knew you by the cold blue snow of your eyes and the ice of your tongue and I loved you for the way that you warmed at the sight of me and melted into my arms as we curled up beside a fire.

I knew you only briefly the fourth time, and I wonder if you remember. My soul an unformed icicle that could not hold its human form for long. I knew you sitting at the window of a too-cold orphanage and glaring at the snow as though you could will it to vanish for the sake of the little boy that clung to you for warmth. I knew you then, and I wonder if you knew me, the tiny snowflake frame that never knew quite how to breathe and could not survive that last winter in the rundown orphanage. I wonder if you knew me then, or if you loved me at all. Because I loved you, and the way that even in the ice cold you would wrap your blankets around his shoulders instead and I wanted to be able to press against you and warm you.

And again I came to know you when you gathered the fragments of me in your hands and stared down at the glimmer of the slips of paper that bore my image. Did you recognize me then? Did your eyes spark with a memory as you sat in that car listening to the rain pound down on the roof and stared at the cards you had fought so hard to obtain. Did you know me, then? Is that why you sought my fragments? I knew you, and I loved you, even when you tore a piece of me in half. How could I stop loving you, after all the times I had known you?

You apologized, in the end. I remember it. I knew you as the rain poured from an open sky and you slipped inside of the dark game shop with your hair falling into your ocean eyes and how you crossed the room leaving a dripping path and stared at the box with my taped up remains and whispered, so quietly that the rain almost drowned it out, _"I'm sorry."_

And I know you now. Perhaps this will be the last time, but who can say? I know you now by the ocean once again, you, standing there, waiting, and I wonder how long it's been. You look up at my approach on the soft sand and I see your eyes pooling up like the ocean tides.

Do you know me this time? Did you know me before? Did you love me as I loved you? I want you to, so much that it hurts, the ocean waters swelling in my breast like I'm going to explode. I want you to know me, and to love me. Because I am especially for you.

Yes.

I have known you more than once, and loved you every time.

I knew you by the way the ocean spilled over your shoulders and your eyes reflected the sky. The ocean lived inside of you, that beautiful expanse of sea that my people had long worshiped, and I could see its divinity shining through your eyes. And I wondered then, if you would love me the way that I loved you.

I knew you by the way that the sky shone within you, that endless horizon that shone down on our golden desert that had greeted you with such hostility. I knew you by the way the light played through your hair and the kindness in your hands as you pressed them to my face. I knew, then, that I loved you enough to keep searching for you. Again, and again, and again, because I knew, then that you loved me and that love was worth searching to the end of the sky for, no matter how long it took.

I found you again in the cradle of ice and snow and winter's breath. I knew you by the delicacy of your snowflake hair and the way I feared I might break you or cause you to melt away if I grew too close. But you pulled into me anyway and I wanted you to, hoping against hope that this time, our love could stay frozen in time.

I _do_ remember the fourth time. I remember you, the fragile snowflake, tucked away into the back of the orphanage so you wouldn't make others sick. I knew you by the rasp of your breath, always fighting, never giving up as you tried for each breath. I knew you by the strength of winter within you, your desire to cling to the world like a winter's chill for as long as possible. I knew you by the tiny songs you would sing through the door to the children who were scared or lonely, and I love you even then, before you disappeared.

And I knew you again, although smudged and faded like words in the mud blurred like rain, as I held you in my hands and listened to the storm rage above us. Even then, my soul made hard and untouchable by my own hands, I knew that I needed you, needed to find you and pull you to me, even if the rain had washed away the why.

I truly am sorry that I hurt you the way I did—nothing pierces me more now than the memory that I, with my own hands, damaged you.

And I know you now. I have been searching, waiting, striving, even when I didn't remember why or how or what it was I was looking for. You are the one I have been fighting for all this time, and I am sorry I made you wait at all. I watch you now, coming to me with the braids in your hair, your bare feet sinking into the sand as the ocean that lives in you washes around your toes.

Yes. I know you this time. And I knew you then. And I have always loved you. I will never stop loving you. I am especially for you.

Our hands join together and our eyes meet again. Our sighs twist together, rising up to the sky where the rain will come soon, and the snow soon after.

But for now, our eyes are for the ocean, and the ocean alone. Because we, together, will return to the place that birthed our love, and this time, we will go together forever.

Because, as each of us will whisper to the other.

 _I am especially for you._


End file.
